French Vanilla
by NitrogenFixation
Summary: Of Annie, Auggie, and mundane moments. Because sometimes just being there is enough. / Episode tag: 1x01, Pilot. Oneshot.


_How can he be so calm?_ was the first thing that occurred to her. The puzzlement and, to some degree, bafflement at the image before her - Auggie, sipping tea/coffee, sitting in a chair in the tech room - briefly stilled her own disquieted thoughts and uncertainty. After only a few seconds, she remembered who she was thinking about and that pacing worriedly wouldn't suit him. Perhaps sitting and stewing in his concern, but no outward signs of it, surely. She slumped down in the chair beside him while another agent went to get Joan. Since the tech office was at the bottom of the stairs, she was in plain view, so it was reasonable that _that_ was the reason she chose that particular chair and not one on the opposite side of the room from Auggie. It _was_ also _a_ reason, but not really _the_ reason.

"So _what_ happened?" She would bet that, for Auggie's part, it hadn't been the calm patience he was displaying now that had been his first reaction. She knew he'd known some of the situation before she got there - before she'd even left the hotel. She would bet that sort of uncertainty would rattle anybody, even a veteran and CIA agent. If she'd heard that anyone she knew - even if only for a day - had been shot at by an apparently skilled sniper, she would be panicking and scrubbing layers and layers of nonexistent dust off of various surfaces. She cleaned when she worried. If she couldn't clean, she fidgeted idly with full-up coffee mugs like the one Auggie was drinking from now. If she couldn't do that - well, she'd never been in a position where she couldn't do that and hoped it would never come to it.

"We were talking - well, he was flirting, _I_ was talking -" that seemed to make Auggie smile a little, more in a dry attempt at looking amused than genuine amusement, "and then he'd been shot in the head and twice in the chest. I ducked and covered, and the shots kept coming for me. I was going to make a grab for the device but he cut me off and I barely escaped multiple bullets and being crushed under a chandelier before I got out of there and was dragged off into a nondescript black van by a person I don't know." The story sounded all too calm to match the raving, catastrophic whirlwind of emotions and thoughts coursing through her right then. It was robotic, almost - it was the truth, with no real reaction or emotion. He blinked at nothing in particular, took a sip of his drink, and finally turned his head a little towards her. She'd noticed that he never really faced her when he talked if the subject was serious, as if he didn't want to look at her for fear of seeing something he didn't like, except he couldn't see, but he would kind of tilt his head towards her, acknowledging his involvement in the conversation. He, the blessed soul, let her think for a moment in silence, and perhaps was processing the information.

"You're okay," he observed. She was obviously okay - not bleeding except a couple cuts and not permanently traumatized in any obvious way. It wasn't a robotic statement, though, but more of a reassurance to her: she _was_ and _would be_ okay. She looked down, pulling a tiny sliver of glass from one of the broken bottles or vases out of her finger. She noticed her mutilated panty hoes - nevermind the specks of blood from near-microscopic cuts, they had been shredded and ripped and had runners all over the place.

"My pantyhose aren't," she told him dryly, and he really did smile and laugh this time. He turned in his chair and reached onto his desk, feeling around for a moment before his arm reappeared, carrying with it another mug. He held it out and she didn't reach to take it right away, a little startled. He wasn't turned in her direction - actually, he was facing away from her slightly, as if looking at something she couldn't see. She noted the change in position and decided to watch for it later, as it was an indicator of something, she just didn't know _what_ yet.

"I thought you might need it," he stated, a little awkwardly - well, he didn't _sound_ awkward, but he felt it, and she knew it - and she reached out and took the warm mug from him, smiling.

"Thanks." He took a sip of his own, and she smelled hers - a strong brew of french vanilla flavored coffee. She smiled. It was her brew she'd left lying around in her top desk drawer. "You either like french vanilla or -"

"I smelled it when you were putting your bag of it in the drawer," he admitted, then chuckled. She smiled, remembering he had been standing there, making a snarky comment about showing her the bathrooms.

"What's yours?"

"Hot chocolate," and here he grinned a little sheepishly as she laughed. She had to admit that she was surprised. Auggie didn't strike her as the hot chocolate kind of guy. But then, she'd only known him for a day or so; who was she to judge?

They sat in a companionable and relative quiet, Annie pondering her thoughts and not knowing what exactly Auggie was doing except sitting there quietly with hot chocolate, until she spoke again. "What do I tell Joan?"

"What you told me, except the reader's digest version. There are three things people like Joan in the CIA want to know: that you're not injured in any hindering or permanent way, who is dead and who is not, and whether the mission was successful - not necessarily in that order. Any other details can wait," Auggie rattled off like the best encyclopedia money could buy, except better because it also offered advice for the workplace and for life in general as a CIA agent.

She could see Joan coming down the stairs after the woman who'd gone to find her several minutes ago. She took a deep breath and muttered to Auggie, "Incoming," which made him smile into the hot chocolate he was drinking. She braced herself to explain the situation the way her friend had said to. He hadn't led her wrong yet.

**A/N:** A simple little oneshot, mostly for my own amusement. If you think this didn't have enough dialogue/banter, you aren't alone. If you think their relationship seems to more resemble how it was in later episodes than in the pilot, this was written right after I watched the first two episodes on TV, and not edited except in regards to grammar after that, so it is not at all influenced by later episodes. Personally, I like how it came out, although I'm well aware that this could be expanded. It just didn't seem appropriate to make them have a deep conversation at the point in the pilot that this takes place.

Review, please! :) Your reviews might prompt me to actually finish the other CA oneshots I have in the works. If it was bad, feel free to tell me. If you liked it, PLEASE tell me. If you have tips, they are always welcomed, appreciated, and heard out at the very least.

- Nitro


End file.
